


Little Broken Hearts

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extra-Marital Affair, F/M, Family Drama, modern-day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: AU.15 years after their marriages, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry realize that the "One big happy Weasley family" was an illusion, a coping mechanism from right after the war, which for a long time pushed them apart from their true desires and forced them to create a large web of lies and resentments. But before it's too late, they need to turn things around. HHr.





	Little Broken Hearts

  


#  **_Little Broken Hearts_ **

27.08.2015 Author: Theda (Two For A Table)

Summary: AU.15 years after their marriages, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry realize that the "One big happy Weasley family" was an illusion, a coping mechanism from right after the war, which for a long time pushed them apart from their true desires and forced them to create a large web of lies and resentments. But before it's too late, they need to turn things around. HHr.

WEB: https://thedathevamp.wixsite.com/stories/single-post/2015/08/27/Little-Broken-Hearts

Chapter 1

Once again she held a crying Rose in her arms. A trip on the front steps of their home was all it took for a scraped knee, a little bit of blood, quite a bit of stinging and a whole lot of wanting to be cuddled.

"Hush now, Rosebud, Mum's already bandaged it, kissed it… Ssh, calm down." Hermione caressed her daughter's hair and gently rubbed her back, walking the floor of her kitchen back in forth, just as when she was an infant. "What if I told you a story, would you enjoy that?" Rose seamed to ponder for a moment and then eagerly nodded, her face hidden between the curve of her mother's neck and her golden-brown mane of curls.

"Hmm, well let's see… Ah, yes. Once in a large city where buildings were so, so high they could reach the clouds, a huge celebration was being planned. Dancers and singers rehearsed, the mayor wrote his speech, the folk's people made plans and dressed up… Everyone in town had an invitation, all except for Hugo. Hugo was a little boy who lived on the highest apartment in the tallest building. Hugo's mother and father were out of town for work and he was very upset. Harvey's sister called him to play—no use. Hugo's nanny called him to eat—no budging. Not even to the park or the beach Harvey wanted to go."

"Not even the library?" Rose quietly asked and Hermione let out a chuckle.

"Not even the largest, most beautiful library in the world." Hermione grew tired of the pacing; Rose was growing and becoming more and more difficult for her to carry. So she took a seat on the kitchen table, with her daughter sitting on her lap. "Hugo's sister and nanny then decided to investigate the reason for his terrible mood. They questioned the neighbors and searched the entire street for clues. News spread that Hugo hadn't been invited and the people of the vicinity began to feel bad for him—so together, they began to prepare a very special invitation—an invitation so big that from the 500th floor where Hugo lived he would be able to see and read it. The invitations lit up with Christmas lights and sparkles. It was so beautifully colored that from afar it looked like a rainbow…"

"And what did Hugo do?"

"When Hugo looked out of his window, through his binoculars and saw that everyone had joined together to make him happy, he became thrilled and excited. Helicopters flew around, the cameras from the news stations catching the moment. All televisions showed the initiative. Hugo put on his best looking outfit and ran outside. He could barely contain himself of joy when he arrived on the street and he saw his parents waiting for him—Hugo had been missing them very much—everything was perfect and with smiles on their faces, everyone went to the big celebration. And that's it."

As Hermione looked at her daughter, she found her to be asleep. She smiled and caressed her golden curls, her rosy and ever soft cheeks. She kissed the eyelids that masked beneath them the prettiest of brown. There was no one she loved most in the world—even if she was now a half-hour late for her business trip.

How she wished she could stay more.

-/-

He watched from the window the entire ordeal. The cries of Rosie had called upon his attention—he'd just been back from a small flight on his broom. As he watched the quotidian interaction, he honestly wished he could've been there, inside that kitchen—with the two girls he loved the most. His eyes locked on her nimble hands—the perfect curve of her arm, the curls that fell past her shoulders. He knew by heart the soft, silky feel of them and that scent of vanilla and something else exclusively hers. He desperately wanted to capture her again in his arms—the woman he had always loved. If only they hadn't promised to give their affair a stop—for the sake of their long friendships and for the sake of their children.

-/-

She chopped, she baked, she seasoned, she stirred, she washed. The pattern of the everyday meal she had to set on the table. Her mother was still a very high standard that as much as she tried, couldn't reach. Once, many years ago, she had wished for this life. Married to the victor of their world; the mother to his children and heirs; wealthy, with all the finest clothes, jewelries and scents. With all the camera lenses pointed at her.

If she were to go back in time she would've locked herself up and tried to talk sense into her teenage mind. Make a life for yourself, don't depend on others for reputation and money, don't marry so young—don't this, don't that. The more she hated what her life had become—an endless routine of mothering and housekeeping and trying to keep her husband interested in her—even when she very well knew that his heart belonged elsewhere—the more she perpetuated the vicious pattern of her comfort zone.

During family luncheons, she would hear her sister-in-laws conversing about how they worked too much and strived to have more time with their children. Hermione especially, who not only worked but travelled a lot—throughout Europe, the Americas, Asia and even Africa. Hermione who's second home were several hotels scattered across the globe, who nearly every week left her daughter at home or with the girl's grandparents—and despite at all Rose adored and admired her mother.

Ginny's boys didn't think much of her. They loved her, yes, but she was always there, present—constantly doing and saying the same things. She wished they would adore and admire her as well.

-/-

Ron Weasley worked extra hours at the joke shop on purpose just so he didn't have to see her leave once more. Hermione had to work… Bull shit. She would flee from him every week—such was her guilt and most of all, their lack of love and affection. Tonight he had spent an hour more working on his prototype, a new and somewhat revolutionary wheeze that had been his main project for about a year. He glanced at the clock and knew that he should get home soon, that Rose would be dining with his sister and his mate, but needed him to tuck her in.

He wasn't stupid. Rose looked nothing like him—starting from the lack of freckles and ginger hair. But he loved her more than words. Rose was just about the only thing he had that in a way was inaccessible to Harry. At home and on her birth certificate—he was the father. To everyone else he was the father and Harry could never deny it without consequences—Ginny's pain, Hermione's rage and probably pain as well… Ron's own humiliation and his own as well—a coward who fathered a child he did not assume.

He knew of his mate's feelings for Hermione. He knew of their escapades—even if few and in moments of great need. He knew how they avoided each other in public, even among family, no eye contact, no touching—barely any speaking—only for them to do in private the complete opposite. He knew that when Hermione made love to him she thought of Harry—he was no saint, after a time he began not thinking of her as well. He knew that for a long time they would meet romantically and sexually—and in one of those meetings Rose had been created.

Ron knew and for a while he had been furious, jealous, felt humiliated. Only now, years later and knowing that in an attempt to secure their families Hermione and Harry had ended their affair—he didn't hate him, quite the opposite. He just felt tired, very tired. As if he weren't truly living his life. He loved Rose and for her he stayed, but honestly, he didn't know if he would be able to go on with this charade for too long.

He closed up shop and disapparated—transporting him to the front porch of the Potters.


End file.
